Keeper of Secrets
by Attsos
Summary: When 23-year-old Ailsa Taggart hears voices in her head, she knows something is up, let alone the rest of the world going bonkers. Death and destruction all over the place, people with some seriously messed up faces and talk of angels? Yeah, she was definitely going insane. But hey, at least she wasn't whoever Sam and Dean Winchester were. Apparently they were screwed. [Slight AU]


**Hello there! Welcome to my first story uploaded her on the site. I've been a lurker for quite some time, but now that I have a shiny new account, I thought I might upload this here. I hope you find it intriguing enough to continue reading!**

**This story (while not a complete AU) will definitely have some differences from the original plot of _Supernatural._ Also, while it is a romance story predominantly, I have decided to withhold the information pertaining to with whom the relationship(s) are created. I do love a good original character story, but I find it saddening how few there actually are. So, here's my contribution. Please do let me know what you think, and enjoy!**

I do not own any of the characters you may recognise from the show. I did my research, however, and Ailsa and any other characters you may not recognise are my own. This will be the only disclaimer throughout the story (should it get that far) so as not to take away from your reading experience. Thank you.

* * *

It was quiet. The day's silence hung heavy in the air without so much as a breeze in the small town of Arcadia, Los Angeles – clouds rolled lazily by with all the time in the world.

It was a day like this that Ailsa loved the most. Blissful tranquillity, a haven for her sharp mind that so loved to wander in nothingness, contemplating humanity's existence and purpose.

Today, however, felt different.

Hazel eyes opened slowly. What was that? A voice?

'Dean Winchester is saved.'

Winchester? The young woman, confused by the entire situation, sat up straighter in her seat as she strained her mind, trying to understand what was happening. Of course, her options were a little limited. Either she'd gone insane, or she was hearing voices. So either way, she was going insane.

Shaking her head in an attempt to clear it, she heard another voice, wispy and faint as a summer's breeze, repeating the same thing.

"Stop it," Ailsa muttered to herself, putting her head in her hands as she tried to make sense of things once more.

"Ye alrigh'?" Ailsa jumped a little at the proximity of her father's voice beside her, forgetting for a moment that they had been sitting in the couch together. "Ye look a bit pale, hen."

The voices eased as Ailsa's mind focused on her father's thick, Scottish accent. "Yeah Dad, I just feel a bit sick."

Her father's brow creased slightly, worry taking shape in his features. "Ye look like yer about to boak. D'ye want a wee drop water? Migh' settle yer sickness a bit."

A quiet giggle escaped the 23-year-old. "Nah Dad, I'll be fine. 'Sides, I'm not five anymore, give's a break."

He guffawed in retaliation, deciding it would be wiser not to reply to that.

Smiling, Ailsa stood anyway. "You wanting anything?"

"Nah hen, m'alrigh'."

"Suit yersel'." She shrugged, making her way into the kitchen and grabbing a glass. Pouring herself a drink of water was not an easy task when there were a bunch of voices talking, but focusing on the task at hand seemed to alleviate some of the discomfort the young woman was feeling. Whatever was going on, it was hurting her head and she doubted a little H2O was going to help.

Sighing, she put the glass down and headed upstairs to her room. A good dream would sort things out for her – she was sure of it.

* * *

A whole month. The stupid voices had been driving her mad for an _entire. Month._

Ailsa growled, gripping her head as she tried to block out the freaky voices as the news anchor yammered about more tragedies occurring all over the place. It was almost like the whole goddamn world was ending.

Except, that's what she kept hearing.

All month, she'd heard the voices talking about the apocalypse and sixty-six seals. The end times, Armageddon, whatever you wanted to call it, that was almost all they talked about. That, and Sam and Dean Winchester. Especially Dean.

Whoever they were, they sounded screwed as hell. Or, well, Sam did. Many of the whispers she overheard talked badly of him – but they seemed to regard Dean with some respect, or at least something akin to it.

Jesus. She shook her head briefly, becoming enthralled by how into this she was getting. Surely she was going insane. It was all in her head, right?

Chewing the inside of her mouth, Ailsa dragged herself to her feet, making her way over to the white desk at the other side of her room. Opening up the small laptop, she logged herself in and searched up the name "Dean Winchester".

She almost couldn't believe her eyes when old, online newspaper articles from a months ago popped up in the search. Dean Winchester was apparently an actual, real guy. As was Sam – the two were brothers. 'Were' being the key word, as apparently they had been murderers and were now dead.

She leaned back in her chair. At least it was a start. The people her voices were talking about had been real. Tilting her head, Ailsa frowned at the thought. Her voices were a little behind on the times, weren't they? Unless the two weren't actually dead, but that would be more than a little weird.

Sighing, the brunette rubbed her temples as more whispers filled her mind. They just wouldn't shut up! What was she even listening to, anyway?

Grimacing, she let her mind wander into the conversational depths.

"Michael... Vessel."

What? Ailsa strained, trying to make out more. Sentences were becoming clearer the more she focused.

"Sam Winchester is an abomination... cannot be allowed to live any longer..."

"No. Uriel, we have strict orders, and that is to follow Dean Winchester's decisions..."

Uriel? Hadn't she heard that name before? It certainly wasn't a common one, Ailsa mused before snapping out of her thoughts and zoning back in on the conversation.

"Castiel-"

Castiel? Uriel? Ailsa blinked. "Surely not."

Diving back into Google Search, it wasn't long before Ailsa found herself on some Bible-thumping society's website.

"Castiel, the Angel of Thursday and Uriel, the Angel of September. The Shield of God and the Fire of God. Unbelievable," she threw her hands up, completely done with everything. "I'm done. No way in hell am I honing in on angelic bullshit."

Standing up, Ailsa readied herself for bed, finding the time had been ticking by while she was on her hunt for answers – it was almost midnight. Washing her hands and face up in the bathroom next door, the young woman splashed water over her face before drying it, rubbing the towel over her hands as well before turning to the mirror with a small sigh. Waves of dark brown fell over her shoulders and over her left eye, covering the hazel contacts her father had given her since they moved to America.

One finger dipping over her eye, she leaned over as she blinked out the contact in her right eye, depositing it into its holder before moving onto the left one.

Blinking sharply as her sight blurred over for a second before adjusting, Ailsa rinsed the contacts with their saline solution before screwing the caps onto their holders, putting them back in the cabinet for the night.

Amber eyes now shone back at her, as bright and golden as always.

Honestly, she enjoyed having a different set of eyes during the day. It was almost like she had her very own secret identity that nobody else knew about. Why her father preferred she covered them up, she might never know, but she had learned it wasn't wise to ask. It wasn't as if she really needed them, her sight had always been perfect – 20/20 in fact – but it was her father's wish, so of course, she complied.

She was sure she'd find out sooner or later, anyway.

Padding back through to her room, Ailsa yawned. The voices had quieted somewhat, but she could still make out the topics of conversation. Naturally.

"The sixty-six seals can wait until I wake up," she muttered, though annoyance had long been replaced with exhaustion. "I need sleep. So please, shut it for a few hours, hm?"

It wasn't like they could hear her, but at least she tried.

With one long, final sigh, she threw herself onto her bed, enjoying the light of the moon streaming through her windows for a few minutes before turning over, falling asleep within minutes.


End file.
